Lexington Black (24 page)

He bought a cheap mobile phone to replace the
one he left behind, then took his notepad and found a coffee bar
for breakfast. He was still numb with shock at the way Lex had lied
to him from the beginning. All that talk about not knowing what you
wanted until you saw it. It was bullshit. Lex had planned their
meeting from the start. Maybe he thought that Rob was the best
substitute for a lover he had never been able to forget. Whatever
his reasoning, it sucked. It sucked big time and he would never be
able to forgive him for seducing him so ruthlessly.

And he would never forgive himself for
falling in love so recklessly.

During his second cup of coffee he called
Geri, who immediately began berating him for not returning her
texts and phone calls.

'I lost my phone. What's the problem?'

'The problem is Lexington Black,' she said
acidly. 'I've been doing some digging. Were you aware he was at
Melville the same year Dad died?'

Rob sighed. 'Yeah. I found out
yesterday.'

He could feel the wind being taken out of her
sails. 'Oh.'

'And I don't want you to say "I told you so,"
okay?'

'Um, why not? I'm your older sister. It's my
divine right. Where are you staying? You're not still in his
apartment, surely?'

'I'm in a hotel. It's okay, Geri. I'm fine.
I'm writing, drinking coffee. I'm okay.'

'So why do you sound as if your heart is
broken?'

'Stop it or I'll hang up.'

'When are you coming home?'

'Three days time. Strangely, at this moment
I'm almost enjoying myself. It's just the annoying "guy I'm in love
with is a total douche" situation that I have to deal with when I
get back. How are plans for the Big Day going?'

'Sara's doing great. We're all on
tranquilisers and it isn't for another three months.'

'I guess the countdown is the one thing you
can all do together with any degree of sincerity.'

'Yeah. No-one can wait until the Big fucking
Day is actually here so we can sleep properly at night.'

By the time they ended the call twenty
minutes later, Rob felt as if a great weight had lifted from him.
So Lex was an asshole. The world was full of assholes. He resolved
to enjoy the remainder of his stay and deal with his heartbreak
when he got back on English soil.

By lunch-time he had hired a car and was
driving out of the city, up the coast towards Connecticut. All the
while he was thinking about heading back to New York and seeing Lex
for one last time. The temptation to do just that was almost
overwhelming.

He didn't get very far. About fifty miles
from New York he picked a town at random and turned off the
interstate to find a place to stay for the night.

The town of Freehaven was postcard pretty,
with Cape Cod style houses, and pink cosmos waving gently in the
breeze coming off the ocean. Fishing boats clinked and bobbed in
the harbour, steeped in the smell of fish and engine oil.

He parked in the middle of town and walked
down to the sea. He came to grassy sand-dunes and a long swathe of
white sand. Fishermen hunched, their lines stretching over the
waves, lamps ready for a long night ahead. A few families still
remained, playing in the sand or flying kites. The sight of them
nearly broke him. The last time he and Lex had been happy, they had
been on a similar beach, doing the same thing. Lex had proposed and
he had said yes, all the while knowing he was risking so much by
doing so.

The memory stabbed at him and he turned away.
He walked back down the beach towards the town, heading down a
different road to the one he had used before.

It took him past the warehouses that lined
the harbour. It was a bustling, lively environment, at the centre
of which was a ramshackle bar with a stained wood deck littered
with old fishing buoys, rope and sharks' jaw bones.

As he walked towards it, his eye was caught
by an old building, perched on a short spit of land that hugged the
harbour. It was four storey's high and box-like, covered with Cape
Cod cladding, with a small, white-painted, single storey building
attached to it. He wondered if it had been a lighthouse at some
point but he had seen that earlier, a pert red and white striped
candy-bar of a light perched on the end of a sandbank much further
out to sea. Something indefinable about the building appealed to
him, so he walked the short distance out onto the spit of land to
have a closer look.

Then he noticed the FOR SALE sign.

He kept staring at the building, thinking how
pleasing it was to the eye. Its lines were clean and crisp, almost
brutal, the yard defined with a weathered white picket fence. In
the past, someone had made a house out of it, judging by the drapes
at each window, but it looked desolate and in need of loving
attention.

He took a deep breath, savouring the tang of
sea salt in the air. Strange how right everything suddenly felt,
like a perfect-fitting coat he had been searching for. He looked at
his watch. It was nearly half-five. He made a mental note of the
name of the real estate agent and on impulse, began to walk rapidly
in the direction of the main street.

What are you doing?
He asked himself
as he broke into a run. He could see the building at the end of the
road. As he reached it, a woman came out with a bunch of keys and
began locking the door.

'Wait, I need the details to that house!'

'I'm sorry?' She looked alarmed.

'Please, I'd really appreciate it. I've just
seen it and ...' And what? He wasn't seriously thinking of buying
it, was he?

Her expression softened. 'You're English,
right?'

'Yes. Sorry. It's ... I don't know!
Please?'

'Aw, that accent gets me every time. You
sound just like Hugh Grant!' She began unlocking the door again.
'Which house was it you were interested in?'

'The one at the harbour. The long, thin
one.'

'The old lighthouse? That's been on the
market for a long time.' She opened a drawer and pulled out a
brochure. 'Can I have your details, Mr...?'

Rob gave her the details she wanted,
including his email address.

'If you want to see the property, just call
me. I'm Teresa Pitt.' She handed over her business card and the
brochure.

'How about tomorrow morning?'

'Sure! 10 o'clock?'

'Perfect.' He smiled at her. 'Thanks.'

As he walked away, his heart was beating
fast. The logical side of his brain was berating him, asking him
what the hell he thought he was doing.

The creative side felt as if it had sprouted
wings.

******

'The building is about 150 years old. It fell
out of use as a lighthouse when the sandbanks built up and they had
to build the new one further out. One of the fishermen lived in
there for a while but he died a while back out at sea,' Teresa
explained as they walked to the lighthouse.

'Sorry to hear that.'

'We're a close community, Mr. Martyn. We all
grieve when we lose one of our own. Why have you chosen our
town?'

'I have no idea. It drew me,' he answered
honestly.

She nodded as if she understood. 'The
lighthouse is a historical building. A property developer bought
it, thinking he could use the site to build apartments. He didn't
reckon on the determination of the local Historical Society and the
people of the town, who all want to preserve it. And neither should
you.' She fixed him with a look. 'If you're thinking of changing it
architecturally, or trying to get around the preservation order, my
advice to you is to look somewhere else. You will spend a lot of
money trying to achieve something that isn't going to happen.' Her
look was steely. He began to like her and the town more and
more.

'I hear you. All I want is a place to write
and find some peace of mind. I want to do it up, bring it to life.'
As he said it, he realised that it actually was what he wanted to
do. It was what he had been waiting for, possibly for his whole
life. He needed a purpose, and that wasn't to find the perfect
partner. He didn't exist. Lex was ... He had no idea what Lex was,
but he didn't want to make him the prime focus of his life.

They walked around the building. It looked
solid enough, its cladding intact. It was square, with
white-shuttered windows on each side. At the front was a deck which
led to a modestly-sized yard backing on to an overgrown tangle of
grass and bushes. It was enough. He wasn't a great gardener, but it
was something he could manage and enjoy.

All the while, Teresa talked to him about the
history of the building and the potential usage for each room. The
ground floor held the kitchen and utility area, with wooden stairs
leading up to the living room. There was enough space for a
breakfast area and a small couch. The room was slightly dark but
with judicious lighting and careful choice of paint, he could make
it look a lot better. There was also a tiny toilet, which was handy
as the main bathroom was on the top floor.

The next floor up was a lot brighter, with a
view of the harbour and a sliver of sea beyond the sandbar. It
would make a charming space in which to relax and entertain. He
nodded his approval and followed her up to the next floor,
separated into two bedrooms and another bathroom. Again, it needed
extensive decoration but there was plenty of room for guests. He
didn't want to show how pleased he was as they went up to the top
floor, where the view was stunning. The bathroom just about had
room for a bath as well as a shower, but that didn't matter,
because one could lie in bed and stare out over Long Island
sound.

'You can even see the new lighthouse,' Teresa
said. 'And there's one more thing.'

She unlocked a door that Rob hadn't noticed
before, opening it to reveal a steel fire escape staircase which
ran the entire length of the building, and took them up right up to
the rooftop. She paused at the top of the stairs.

'It isn't safe right now, and the roof will
need to be re-enforced. Safety barriers, etc., but you'd have your
very own sun-deck.'

Would I need permission from the Historical
Society?'

'Oh yes, but if you ask them nicely, I don't
think it would be too much of a problem. That's unofficial, by the
way. Officially, I can't call it one way or the other.'

Rob looked out over the edge. 'How come
no-one else has bought this place?'

'It's had plenty of interest but there's a
lot of work to do. And the Historical Society has scared off a lot
of people, to be honest.'

Rob shrugged, unfazed. 'How far is it from
New York?'

'Forty-five miles to the centre of Manhattan.
I know some people commute from here. The rail links are good.'

He fired more questions at her. It was
important as he had fallen in love with the place and needed to
make sure he wasn't buying some pipe-dream that would leave him
destitute.

After a couple of hours he thanked Teresa and
went to a cafe called Pearl's Palace. With a strong coffee in front
of him, he sat with a notebook and worked out his finances. There
were two problems. The first was getting a visa. The second was
sustaining himself financially until he began to turn a profit from
his writing. If he was going to do it, he wanted to buy the
lighthouse outright, and renovate it straight away, without taking
out a mortgage. He could do it, but it wouldn't leave him a whole
lot to live on. Not that he was planning on a lavish lifestyle, but
he wanted to be comfortable.

He spent the next hour on the phone, first to
his bank. He was actually worth more than he had assumed he was,
but it still wasn't enough to sustain him for more than a year at
the most. Afterwards, he asked the waitress for a phone directory
and sat with that and his laptop for well over an hour, doing
research. In the end, the woman asked what he was doing, and
listened whilst he explained what he had planned. When he had
finished, she took up his paper and pen and scribbled on it.

'Call this guy. He'll give you a fair quote
for the renovations.'

'Yeah?' He wasn't sure whether to trust her
just yet. After all, it was obvious he was from out of town.

'If he doesn't, I'll kick his ass. He's my
son. And this guy is head honcho in the Historical Society. You
want to get him on board ASAP, before anyone else gets wind of it.'
She wrote down another number and tapped it with the pencil.

'Thanks. This is brilliant. I'll call him
now.'

She put her hand on his arm. 'Never call him
on a Monday afternoon. He's with a friend then and doesn't like
being disturbed. If you want to upset him, that's the way to do
it.'

Rob grinned at her. 'A friend? You mean, a
mistress?'

'Well, I don't suppose he'd like being called
that.' She winked at him.

'He's gay? Great, so am I.' He jotted down
"not on Monday afternoon" next to the number she had given him,
aware she was staring at him.

'You have a problem with that?' He asked when
he looked up.

Her eyes narrowed. 'You pulling my
chain?'

'Nope. Gay through and through.' It felt
right to say it. If she didn't like it, it would be a good reason
not to buy the place.

Silence, then, 'I won't lie to you, honey.
There are some people round here who don't understand folks who are
a bit different, but you won't get any trouble from me. Live and
let live, is what I say.' She poured more coffee into his mug. 'Why
don't you have a pastry with that?'

'Yes, please.'

'Oh, you're so polite! Love that accent. I'm
Pearl. And you are?'

'Rob Martin.' They went over to the counter
and he chose a cinnamon and apple Danish.

'There you go, honey. On the house. When you
move here, I expect to see you every damned week, and you'll be
paying full price like everyone else.'